My Son Turns 10: Seven Balloons and Every Feeling in Between

Today my son turns 10.

Arrington.  My baby.  The one who made me a mother.  Ten years ago showed up and rearranged everything: my heart, my sleep, my priorities, my whole understanding of what love costs and what it’s worth.  And today he is double digits.  My grandmother would always say, “the older you get the faster time goes.”  Baby, I am not ready. I need to speak to a manager about all this.

We celebrated on Sunday.  And I have to be honest with you, because that’s what we do here.  I felt EVERYTHING. Happy.  Sad.  Proud.  Angry.  Joyful.  Annoyed.  Frustrated.  A little anxious.  Grateful.  I woke up Monday morning and they were all still there, sitting on the edge of the bed like, “So…what’s happening today?”

The Weekend Before the Party

The party didn’t happen in a vacuum.

Friday was long.  MRI, X-rays, waiting rooms, a whole lot of “hold still.”  He handled it like a champ.  Like the person I know him to be.

Saturday, we played the Blue Jays for the second time this season.  We lost 3-2, and the refereeing was…let’s call it how it was…very one sided.  Somehow worse than the first time, which I did not think was possible.  So I filed a formal complaint. Yes, Coach AD will send an email.  Pharmacist habits die hard: documented, dated, filed.

Saturday evening, we went to a birthday party for one of his teammates, who happens to share his birthday, September 30th.  Two boys, same team, same  birthday, same boyish energy.  The party was a loud, fun, nerf gun blast!

So by Sunday, we were running on fumes and feelings.

The Party

He asked for a nacho bar.  He got a nacho bar.  It was a hit. Thank you to my aunt, mom, and uncle for all the help cooking and setting it all up.

The football games were on for anybody who wanted it. And the kids.  Lord, the kids. Cousins and teammates, mostly boys, some of them meeting for the first time, and within about four minutes they were playing like they’d been raised in the same house. Wild. Loud.  Everywhere at once.  I laughed and my heart smiled. I love watching boys just be boys. Especially our Black and brown boys, who the world doesn’t always allow to just be boys. No phones, no electronics, no pressure.  Just a ball and a pool and each other.

Here’s what you should know about Arrington at 10:

He is competitive, outspoken, and outgoing.  He will debate you, and he’ll probably win, or at least make you wonder why you started.  He’s loving, funny, and all boy.  He will wrestle you to the ground and then crawl into your lap for a cuddle ten minutes later.  His favorite things are soccer, wrestling, good food, and his people.

And he is a thinker.  He wants to help every person he sees who has less.  Every. Single. One.

A school assessment said he handles disappointment and the unexpected because he can modify course when necessary.  Not good, not bad.  He adjust.  I read that and thought, well, there it is.  That’s my son.

When It Got Quiet

As the party wound down, the teammates went home.  It was just Arrington and his boys, his four cousins, sitting by the pool talking the way kids talk when they think the grown folks aren’t listening.

And then he started crying.  He missed his dad.  First birthday they have not spent together.

That one broke me clean in half.

But his cousins just held space for him.  No teasing, no “man, stop crying.”  They understood.  He got to call his dad and talk to him, and that helped.

I won’t pretend I’m not carrying some things from this weekend.  There’s frustration, irritation, and some anger I’m still working through with God.  That part is mine to sort out, and it isn’t the story here.  The story is a 10-year-old boy who loves his daddy, and a mama who wants him to have every good thing, including the things she can’t give him herself.

Both can be true.  That’s the part of motherhood nobody puts on the card.

Seven Balloons

We had a helium machine.  It’s going back to the store, by the way, because it blew up exactly seven balloons and then just quit like it had somewhere to be.  Seven balloons.  Just enough for Arrington, Aliah, and their cousins.

My plan was simple:  release the balloons.

The kids had a better plan.

Before letting them go, they wanted to circle up and pray.  Nobody suggested it.  They asked for it.

So we did.  Youngest to oldest, ages 5-14, each one saying their own thank-you to God.  Then me.  Then my uncle.  Lastly my mom.  We stood with the lake behind us and the sky doing that storm-and-sunset thing, as we loved on one another grateful for it all.

Then they let go.  Seven balloons, up and up and up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyrknlP-MeI

I’m still frustrated.  I’m still a little angry.  And I have never been more grateful. You don’t have to pick.

My Prayer for You, Arrington

Lord, keep him whole.

Don’t let the world swallow him up or tell him to be this or that, too much of one thing and not enough of another.  Let him just BE Arrington:  loving, smart, faithful, thoughtful, thankful, charismatic, charming, and compassionate.  Let him keep every part of himself.  The wrestler and the snuggler.  The debater and the helper.  The boy who cries for his dad and the boy who prays over balloons.

Happy 10th birthday, my son.  You made me a mother, and you keep making me a better one.

The rest of what I have to say to you, I’m keeping for you, for later, when you’re ready.

BTW: When I went to pick up the cake, the order was under the name Jeri’L.  My pops.  Their Gramps.  Gone almost three years now, next week.  Turn out my mom’s member card is still tied to him, so when she ordered the cake, his name came right along with it.  The bakery would call that a system thing.  I call it Gramps making sure he got his name on the cake.

Other Post You May Enjoy:

So What’s Happening

Bragging on My Son | A Proud Mom’s Love Letter

Family Travel Co-Parenting: Holding It All Before Our First Cruise